


Give it up

by michonnesboys



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse (mentioned), Daddy Issues, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mommy Issues, Self Harm (mentioned), daryl dixon has them, i got carried away, merle is a warning of his own, michonne and her mama bear instincts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25450873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michonnesboys/pseuds/michonnesboys
Summary: This is just a character study of Daryl’s mommy/daddy issues syncing up with Michonne’s maternal aura
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Michonne, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes/Michonne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	Give it up

Daryl didn’t like to give up control.

That inability to let go of the reins had been there since the moment he got a taste of life without Merle. When he was younger, it was easier to be guided, it made sense to be shielded by his older brother’s shadow, practically eating out of the man’s hand because it was all he knew. When the world went to shit, Merle was there to metaphorically hold his hand until they ended up with a group to semi call their own.

Merle was an asshole and a pest. He caused problems and walked around like he didn’t offend everyone he came in contact with but Daryl never questioned him. He followed, he listened, he obeyed. It just made sense to stick to what he knew and Merle was just that. And even when he did try to point out Merle’s flaws, his big brother was there with sharp words to remind him of how ‘thankful’ he should be to have his kin protecting him. 

But the moment Daryl tasted freedom, it was like his head was cleared of the fog the Dixion family tried to suffocate him with. When Merle Dixion took his last ragged breath, Daryl had become aware of how alone he had truly been. His brother hadn’t been there for the belt buckled beatings and the wild fists from their father. Merle had barely been there to help Daryl grieve over the death of their mother. Sometimes he wished he had fled the house with him. Sniffing power sounded a little more appealing than smelling that metallic stench of his own blood being coughed up onto the floor. And as the pent up anger and sadness left as time went on, Daryl learned to forgive his only brother, remembering the prick was just a kid himself when they were trapped between those tattered walls. 

Without realizing it Daryl had clung to Rick, to his disgust, an ex cop. It wasn’t the leadership he was clinging to though, yet that was a part of it. He clung to the smell of independence, the freedom he felt when he was fighting alongside the man. Rick didn’t boss him around or guilt trip him to follow close behind like a hungry stray puppy, no Rick made him feel like he was in control for the first time in his unforgiving life. It was a breath of fresh air to feel like a partner for once and not a measly sidekick. 

Though this feeling was euphoric and encouraging, there were times where Daryl was back in that headspace of the scared kid under his father’s shoe, times where he needed a break from being in charge, times when he needed to be cared for. He thirsted after that feeling, searching for something he had been neglected for so long, a chance to be weak and vulnerable. Daryl Dixion needed to give up control from time to time, but he was stubborn.

Sometimes the man got lost in the maternal aura that was Carol. She meant so much to him and he wasn’t completely sure why. He loved Carol and would honestly die for the woman. His only thought process around her was that she was happy and maybe that came from the shared trauma before the apocalypse or maybe because Carol ruffled his hair and fixed his plates. She baked him cookies and cracked jokes that only a woman of her age would. He didn’t intimidate Carol and she allowed him to be weak and strong at the same time. It was all the same in her eyes. He was still himself no matter what.

Meeting Michonne was what really left the man puzzled. He was wary of strangers waltzing in especially when Rick was so out of it at the time. Then he was angry, maybe jealous at how easily she got under his and his son’s skin. They adored her, he could tell. But what really pissed Daryl off about her, what really got his gears turning, was how persistent she was about understanding him. They were similar in ways, quiet and laid back. They used weapons that took years of mastering, they were observant, they were hunters, and boy did Michonne see Daryl as prey.

No matter how many times he pointed his crossbow at her or threw a growly remark her way, she didn’t budge nor flinch. She wasn’t phased by his tough guy persona. Daryl didn’t understand Michonne but she clearly wanted to understand him. Then there was that point in time when they were on the same path, the path to rid the world of the Governor for good. They shared laughs and companionship on their many trips, marking off spots they looked while also stepping further out of the tension they once had.

There was one night that stood out clearly to Daryl, one that nearly knocked his reins of control away from him. They had been on another one of their trips to find Phillip and they had set out a camp for the night. He remembered how full he was from a can of beans and how comfortably warm the air had been. The chirp of crickets and the crackling fire had lulled him to sleep, Michonne had offered to take first watch. He woke up later to something, someone hugging him close. He was quick to flip the form over and grab a knife from his side, pressing it against the attacker’s neck. Though this attacker was Michonne, unphased by the knife to her pulse.

“The hell you grabbin’ on me for!”

He climbed off of her, tucking the knife away.

“You were fighting in your sleep. I was comforting you.”

She had said it so calmly as she sat up, like it was the most natural thing in the world to her, like Daryl looked like someone who needed comfort.

“I ain’t no pansy that pisses the bed. I don’ need no comfortin’ from you. Alright?”

She had tilted her head to the side at him and it had looked so similar to Rick Grimes he could pull his hair out. 

“Alright?!”

“I hear you...but just so we’re on the same page. Me trying to help you through what I’m assuming was a nightmare isn’t me calling you weak. Even the strongest men need to be held.

And while she said it her eyes were so piercing and sincere. She wanted him to believe it and for some strange reason, he almost did. It didn’t stop there though. Michonne seemed to be around all the time. When it was time to eat, she seemed to be watching him to make sure he did, when he would disappear into the woods after they lost the prison, she was the one that would come to find him after a while. Carol would ask to go with him but Michonne would watch him leave and only come retrieve him after a few hours. She was good at tracking him, better than the others. Against his own will, he started to look for her too, and started to feel her absence when she was focused on Carl. 

She guarded that kid like he was her own, held Judith close to her chest when Carl and Rick were too busy to. She combed her fingers through Carl’s hair and got on him about eating his ration of food, and poked his sides to get that stone cold kid to lighten up every once and awhile. Daryl would stare at them across the campfires when Carl would set his father’s hat to the side and rest his head in the woman’s lap. It was an action so simple and normal that she never even paused her conversation with Maggie, only rested a protective arm over the boy while he drifted to sleep, her lap probably being the best pillow he’s had in ages. 

Michonne caught him staring from time to time and each time she did, she’d narrow her eyes at him. It was a hint of invitation in there somewhere but Daryl pushed those thoughts away the best he could, instead focused on how Carl seemed like the world’s youngest serial killer until he was under the gaze of the katana wielding woman. 

Carl wasn’t the only person Michonne seemed to have an affect on though. Even Glenn would be seen taking part of her maternal agenda. The Korean wasn’t really a closed book to start with but if there was anyone he could truly spill his guts to besides Maggie, it was Michonne. 

What shocked Daryl the most was how quickly and efficiently the woman had knocked down Rick’s walls. He was so tightly wound all the time but one reassuring glance from Michonne seemed to ease the man so well his shoulders would droop and his jaw would relax. His eyes were soft when he looked at her, raging waves of blue calmed to a mere ripple in a lake. She slowed his breathing, cleared his head, let him rest some of the weight off of his shoulder onto hers. Michonne could soothe that angry bull inside of Rick’s spirits like a sedative. They worked so fluidly together, Daryl was unsure if he was jealous of Michonne squeezing Rick’s hand or that it wasn’t his own hand being given a squeeze.

She wedged herself smack dab in the middle of him and Rick so much so that now Rick would ask her for advice over Daryl sometimes. It made him want to disappear, to dissolve into a herd of walkers now that he was no longer needed. Now that he was no longer a partner but instead that scared dog that would bite if anyone got to close. He took longer watch shifts, he ventured deeper into those woods, he made himself unseen as possible only this time he couldn’t cower into the dark shadow that was Merle. Now Daryl was feeling the loneliness that came with independence and he hated it. 

Things only seemed to get worse when the group made it to the safezone titled Alexandria. There was no real place to hide. Everything he hated about himself was on display. There were houses and new people and everything seemed so spit shined and perfect. It felt too clean for a redneck bastard child like Daryl to step foot in it. He felt like he was dirtying the place up just by breathing their air. While the others settled in and grouped up into houses, houses bigger than anything Daryl’s ever lived in, he opted to stay on the porch. Rick and Michonne’s porch. They seemed like this big happy family now, Judith was practically calling Michonne ‘mama’ and Carl wasn’t too far behind. It was their circle, their pack. The Grimes’ house. Yet Daryl planted himself firmly on their porch like a guard dog, scaring all the neighbors away with his dirty clothes, scratched up skin, and some form of critter being gutted on his pocket knife. 

Rick had asked him to come inside on multiple occasions but the man declined. He instead watched Rick and Michonne become constables, watched Carl make friends. Then Rick grew some form of school boy crush on this blonde who Daryl couldn’t put a name to and while Rick was chasing her around some party, Aaron and his husband were giving Daryl a bike and a job. He was thankful for the distraction but his eyes kept glancing towards the party on his walk back to the porch, Rick and Michonne’s porch.

He hadn’t noticed the woman sitting on the steps at first but when she fully came into view, illuminated by the dull street lights he was in awe. She fixed up nice but it was odd to see her in a dress. As he neared her, she patted the space beside her as an invite for him to join but it felt like a demand. He took the spot without question.

“Thought y’all were at that stupid party,” he started to chew at a hangnail on his thumb.

“I was. I left early. Guess it was too much too fast, but I put on this dress so that has to count for something right?”

Daryl gave a shrug and a grunt of affirmation. His gaze was distant and he was staring off at an orange glow from a neighboring porch, a cigarette. Suddenly he was craving one.

“Why don’t you come in the house?”

“Like it better out here.”

“Why?,” her eyes were on him. He could feel it.

“Why do you care so much where I sleep? Don’t you got yer own damn family to worry about?”

“Are you not a part of that family?” Michonne didn’t seem to ever miss a beat when she was talking to him.

“You tell me.”

For the first time in a long time Daryl risked looking at her in the eyes. He was so used to ducking around with his head down, avoiding her gaze at all costs, now he remembered why. There was a fire behind her brown eyes that burned so fiercely, he almost teared up, she looked hurt.

“I say you are. Even when you try so hard to push me away. You act like you don’t want to be near me but send death glares to anyone I’m focusing on that’s not you. You think I don’t care about you, Daryl?”

“I’m not Rick,” He almost growled that, “I’m not Carl, or Glenn, or any of ‘em. I don’t need you on my back all the damn time.” 

He didn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth no more than she did but her expression of determination didn’t waver, it seemed to increase with the narrowing of her eyes. She smelled like wine and cigar smoke, greasy food and perfume. All of it was masking the smell of Michonne, that vanilla that was faint and mucked up by sweat and the dead.

“That’s not what I asked. I asked you if you think I don’t care about you?”

His eyebrows were creasing and his nose was twitching but he couldn’t pull any words, no quick comebacks. So Michonne kept talking.

“I watch you. I observe you. I make sure you eat because I notice how you’ll sometimes give your serving to Carl. I keep track of your moods and I notice when you distance yourself. I can tell when you need space or when you’re pushing away the attention you need. I know you Daryl. I care about you.”

“You don’ know shit!”

“Oh I don’t?” 

Daryl was standing up from the step, deciding if he should go back to Aaron’s or just leave through the gate altogether. Do the group a favor and get lost. 

“I think you’re scared.”

“I ain’t scared of nothin’.”

Michonne held up a finger to signal to let her speak. The action was enough to get him to snap his mouth closed and stay planted where he was standing. She stood too, wobbly from intoxication, but she stood.

“I think you’re scared to get too close to people. You think that if you let your guard down and be weak when you need to be, you’ll get hurt.”

Daryl gave a huff.

“Push and push to isolate yourself from the others so that if we decide to screw you over, it won’t be that much of a loss. Scared we’ll leave you behind..scared we never needed you in the first place,” she said that last part like it just clicked in her brain.

Maybe it was clicking in Daryl’s brain for the first time as well. 

“I ain’t scared of nothin’.”

“Yet you seemed so hurt when Rick and I got closer. When two became three. When I seemingly took your place, right?”

“Fuck you, Michonne.”

She shrugged, “I don’t think you mean that. I think your emotions are too confusing, I think sometimes you just want to be comforted and reassured that you’re loved. So let me be the first to say you are loved, Daryl.”

The air seemed too thick to breathe and the walls almost felt like they were closing and caging him in with how close the woman was to him. It was just him and Michonne’s evaluation, Michonne’s eyes. Then there was Rick walking up to the steps with an extra pep in his step, a stamp on his hand, and Carl following behind him with a new deck of cards. Daryl hiked his crossbow onto his shoulder and fled the steps before Michonne could say anything else.

He had managed to get to the gate, managed to leave through it. The guards on watch didn’t question him and he was sure they were probably happy to see him go. He ventured out but only along the perimeter. He was tossing Michonne’s words over and over in his mind and everything she said rang true. Maybe he was insecure. Maybe he was jealous. Jealous of how easy it was for everyone else to just adapt, be vulnerable. Jealous at how Michonne wasn’t as tough on everyone else as she was on him but jealous that they took up her time and got to feel the receiving end of her gentle yet calloused hands. They knew how to speak, how to let go when their burdens were too much of a load.

He hated that he was scared. Daryl Dixion didn’t like to give up control because it terrified him. Last time he was truly emotionally intact his mother died and left him in the painful clutches of his father. Last time he let himself cry in front of anyone, that same father shoved his face into the mildewed carpeting and scrubbed it there until he finally shut up. Last time he asked for a hug Merle punched him in his gut so hard he toppled over, then he yelled at him to toughen up. Now Daryl would knock himself upside the head, or press a lit cigarette to his arm just to feel something that reminded him of that time before he became so numb and empty inside. 

Sometimes when Michonne spoke to him it felt just like the burning end of a cigarette. Her words were like the scars on his back, they hurt at first but they lasted. Daryl found himself curled up on Rick and Michonne’s porch before the sun could rise. 

When he opened his eyes he was met with Michonne setting a plate of waffles and some syrup beside him. She didn’t seem angry, or as determined as she had been the night before. She was dressed in that stupid uniform, her sword strapped to her back.

“Don’t protest...just eat the damn waffles Daryl,” she straightened up to leave before looking over her shoulder, “I’m sorry if I crossed the line last night but I meant what I said. I care about you.”

And she was gone. But so was the rest of the house, he noted. 

As he chowed down on the warm waffles, completely bypassing the fork in favor of using his hands instead, he spied Carl running behind some boy. Then there was Carol sending him a wave as she walked the opposite way pushing Judith’s stroller. He stopped people watching completely when he spotted Michonne and Rick patrolling the streets together. 

He passed his plate to his free hand to suck his fingers clean of stickiness then wiped them on his vest. The dish was heavy in his palm and after a while he sighed and stood to bring it into the house. It was so much cooler inside and it welcomed Daryl’s sunburnt skin so sweetly. As he walked through the living room he was strongly aware of how wrong he felt inside the place, his shoes were dried with dirt and guts and they were surely dirtying up the plush carpet. He sat the plate and fork into the sink, considered washing it then decided he screwed it up. 

Daryl walked cautiously through the home, lightly touching things and retracting his hand like it burned. He peeked inside of rooms, noted which ones were Carl’s and Judith’s then which ones were Michonne’s and Rick’s. He let himself scan Rick’s room for a while longer, taking in his scent and scarilly neat space. He pulled out a few drawers and grabbed a set of clean clothes then eyed the bathroom warily. 

He didn’t shower long, just enough to remove that initial layer of filth, just enough to make him feel a little less like muck in the house. He ripped the sleeves from Rick’s button up and threw his vest back on. The pants fit well and horrible at the same time but he was dressed and he felt clean enough. His hair was damp and dripping water in his eyes as he made his way to Michonne’s room. It was cluttered in an organized sort of fashion. It screamed Michonne, it smelled like Michonne. Her clothes were lying on the bed as if they were waiting for her to come back. He sat on the bed, feeling out of place and in shock at how comfortable the mattress was. Daryl lied back, feeling his muscles instantly relax. It was so out of character but the man fell back to sleep, a deep sleep until the woman herself was nudging him awake. 

He was quick to try to sit up but she shook her head softly, “Just wanted to say I’m glad you came in. You still tired?”

“Nah. I ain’t mean to sleep here-“

“It’s alright. I’m going outside the gate, wanna come? I’m feeling kind of closed in and my shift just ended…”

Her voice was so soft and inviting, he nearly leaned into it. He nodded and followed her out. She was still in that stupid uniform. Rick was on the couch, his uniform shirt abandoned to show off his plain tee shirt. He was eating but nodded in acknowledgment at the two. He wasn’t shocked Daryl was inside so he guessed the man already knew. Carl was on the floor blowing raspberries into Judith’s exposed pale tummy, making the blonde squeal out. 

Daryl couldn’t help the smile that quirked at his mouth.

“Your bow is on the counter in the kitchen,” Rick flicked his head in that direction.

“Thanks.”

That evening Michonne and Daryl were taking a walk outside the gates. She was so close to him and for once the silence between then didn’t seem as tense. They didn’t talk the whole time they were out but it felt like the deepest conversation they had ever held. So that night he slept on the couch instead of the porch, remembering vaguely how Michonne threw a blanket over him in the middle of the night. 

As time went on, being surrounded by Rick and Michonne only proved to him how much he admired both of them. They were strong, smart, and natural born leaders. They were patient with him where others weren’t and they seemed to admire him too. Michonne never ceased her goal of trying to get him to open up to her and be vulnerable but soon bad luck would strike and finish the job for her.

After spending time in that cold, damp cell Negan had locked him in Daryl was sure he was completely broken. It was one thing to be isolated in his thoughts but physically felt like hell. The saviors stripped him of everything down to his clothes until he was nothing but a shadow of the man he thought he had turned out to be, the only thing he could fully process was how much guilt and grief he felt after his outburst got Glenn killed. Maggie’s cries echoed in his head constantly, the image of what was left of Glenn had paralyzed him to the point of not even realizing he was being dragged away. 

Daryl remembered crying in that cell, convincing himself the group had to hate him now after what he did. Hell, he hated himself for it. But when he made it out, when he was standing there seeing Rick and Michonne for what felt like the first time in a long time, he was truly and utterly scared. He was searching for their expressions, praying they still wanted something to do with him. Rick’s bone-crushing hug was enough to make him give a broken sigh of relief and Michonne’s kiss to his cheek was all it took to get Daryl to cry in front of them for the first time.

He folded into her and wet her shirt with his tears, nearly melting into her when she began to hold him, actually hold him. She was sniffling too and Rick was joining them by wrapping arms around them both. 

“I missed you guys.” He finally hiccupped.

Michonne pressed her forehead to his, “You don’t even know the half of it Dixon.”

He guessed it was in that moment when he realized they would be there for him no matter what. That he was cared for even though his past made that hard to believe. And lastly, Daryl Dixon was just thankful for Michonne and her inability to give up on him like his family once did. Because she was right, he did really need to be held.


End file.
